


Losing Myself to Find You

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: AU in which Iris and Barry run into each other years after their forgotten history.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey!” she yells out of the rolled-down window, easing her car to a stop. 

He hears her, but doesn’t stop running; only speeds up a little more as the sound of her car nears. She follows after him, windshield wipers working extra hard, as the rain continues to pour down.

“Barry!” she yells again, this time garnering a look from him. He stops slowly, turning his whole body to face her direction.

“You remember me?” 

“You’re in my class,” she replies, holding back her words, “I always see you on the track.”

He doesn’t say a word. Only keeps looking at her, waiting for her to explain why she called out.

She notices his jeans are ripped and his tennis shoes look raggedy and worn out. She looks at his blue university t-shirt, with its thin fabrics and scattered holes, and wonders how he isn’t freezing. Her eyes finally move to his face, taking in his soaking hair and his red lips, before settling on his green eyes.

“Listen I’m sorry to bother you,” she continues, “it’s just raining really hard and you seem to be underdressed for the weather. I can give you a lift, if you want?”

His mouth opens, but no words fall. Instead, Iris sees conflict in his expression, a mixture of want and resistance displaying in his eyes.

“Nah, no thanks,” he finally speaks, “I don’t want to be a bot-”

“Barry,” she cuts him off, “it’s not a big deal. Really. Get in.”

Reluctantly, he follows her command, making his way over to the passenger side of her black luxury Nissan Maxima. 

When he gets inside, she notices him still at the touch of the seats. Barry’s eyes dart around the car, before finally resting on the hands in his lap. Silence overwhelms them both.

“Where to?” she asks, turning to face him.

“Umm,” he says with hints of shame in his voice, “it’s the neighborhood where…you know. The one owned by the city.”

Iris doesn’t say a word. Merely puts the car in drive and takes off. 

That was the infamous impecunious neighborhood that the city had built to help take its homeless population off the street. It wasn’t fancy, and every apartment complex was small, only fitting a single bedroom. Truth be told, the apartments themselves resembled shoddy studios more than anything else. Every four rooms shared a bathroom. And everyone who lived there was generally below the poverty line, either working a low-paying job or being a full time student. She figured Barry fit the latter category.

The drive wasn’t long and they rode in silence. She didn’t want to make it more uncomfortable than it already was, and he didn’t know what to say.

When she pulled into the neighborhood, Barry’s hand came to click the seatbelt off. “Thanks for bringing me over, Iris.”

“So you remember me as well?” she replies, not expecting the revelation to come this soon.

“It’s hard not to remember you. Not when everybody in school knows your name. Especially not with -” he gestures to the car “- this and” his eyes drift to her clothes “- that.” 

Iris feels uneasy at the sound of his words, guilt overcoming her. She really hated driving this car, but her parents nagged her enough, saying she had to represent them and uphold their reputation. Class was a big deal, where she came from.

He notices her expression, and quickly realizes what he said upset her. In attempts at a remedy, he continues, “and also by your intelligence. Top of your Master’s program, I hear?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, feeling a little bit of shame subside, “I love Forensic Psychology, what can I say?”

“Is that why you’re always around here?”

“Something like that,” she replies, finally meeting his eyes, “a lot of the people living in these apartments are veterans or ex-prisoners…or both, unfortunately. Most of them were seriously mistreated. A lot of injustice happened in their lives.”

“…and you care?”

She looks at him hard, studying his mannerisms and tone. Iris knows this is a power dynamic, and if her training taught her anything, it’s that insecurities manifest with pressure. And she knows he’s always been obstinate, only believing what he wanted to. But this wasn’t her game to play. 

“Listen, I’m not judging. I just do what I can to help.” 

“I didn’t imply you were. Just don’t know why you would be here. Not with your upper class parents and high-end fashion and planned-out future. Seems like you could do more with your life.”

“This is important to me, Barry,” she replies sternly, now feeling annoyed by his condescending words, “my dad was responsible for this development. My mom’s the ER doctor on hand for any medical needs people have here. My brother works with an Occupational Therapy group, helping a lot of them ease back into daily life tasks.”

“Sure I get that,” he says, unfazed by her description, “forget I asked.”

“What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, Barry, your deal? I haven’t talked to you in years before today and you’re treating me like I’m the bitch from upstate.”

He ducks his head down, this time avoiding her eye contact. If it looked like he was guilty, it’s because he was. Something about Iris West made him unreasonably angry. For more than one reason.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “guess it’s just been a rough day.”

That she can understand, sympathy slowly replacing her own anger. “I didn’t think anyone really knew me around here,” he continues.

“Why?”

“Dunno,” he replies with a little shrug, “didn’t think I was important enough for that, I guess.”

“Intelligence and talent don’t go unnoticed.”

“Mmm and I have neither.” 

“Stop. You’re head of the CSI program. You’re top of your respective field. And you’re a runner. Everyone knows you at Uni. You just never give anyone your time of day. It’s like you’ve purposely set up these boundaries between you and the rest of the world.”

“Don’t ever have much to say,” he answers, eyes filling with hints of sadness, “you’ve always been the more vocal of the two of us.”

“Why?” she asks again.

“I’m not yours to study Iris.” he hisses, opening the door to leave. “Look thanks for the ride. But I gotta go.”

Maybe it was the way she was raised. Or maybe it was her need to never walk away from another person with pent up frustration. Or maybe she wanted closure. Or maybe she just wanted to understand why he was being so cold. But as soon as she heard his door shut, her’s opened wide, the now-exposed outside soaking her clothes and the inside of her car.

“Barry!” she shouts again to see him turn around, “You’re not mine. And I’m not studying you. I just wanna be friends.”

“With me?”

“Yes you,” she answers calmly, “we’ve had three classes together and every time I try to get to know you, you shut me off. And we’ve got another year left before we graduate. I don’t understand why you’re running away…

But I’d like to settle whatever caused this gap between us.”

He drops his head in silence, shaking it ever-so-slightly. She notices him shiver as the raindrops fall hard on his skin, seeping into his clothes.

“Come home with me.”

“What?” he looks at her with a puzzled face.

“Not like that,” she explains, “look I know there’s still a lot more fixing that these complexes need. And it’s not warm here. My house isn’t far off. Spend the night, stay warm. I can give you a ride to school tomorrow.”

He’s never been good with words. Nor has he ever understood why anyone would sympathize with him. But he’d known Iris for a long time. And as much as he wanted a reason to hate her…to keep class the barrier between them, he could never find one. Not after the first class they took together and she gave him her notes after he’d been out for two weeks. Not when she rushed to his side when he tripped on the track. Not when she asked him how he was doing every time she ran into him. And now? She was still being sweet, even though he knew he was being an ass, and maybe - just _maybe_ \- it was time to let his guard down and trust in her.

“I uh…” he stutters, taking small steps back towards her car, “…you don’t have to.”

“I know.” She gives him a sharp look, clearly not playing around, “I want to.”

“You want to take care of a stranger?”

“Barry, you and I aren’t strangers. And it’s time you stop pretending we are.”


	2. Chapter 2

“This is nice,” he says, walking into the house behind her, surprised by its simplicity.

The car ride over hadn’t been too awkward. Barry made an effort to tone down the sarcasm, and they even had some enlightening conversations about their respective career prospects. But he hadn’t commented on what she said. 

_Stop pretending we’re strangers._

Truth be told, he really should. Especially given they used to be so close. Especially given they were almost-lovers at one point. But time erased those moments and time hardened him, erasing his love for her as well. And though he knew those feelings were still there, his pride got in the way. It always got in the way.

But he knew Iris wasn’t easy. And when she wanted something, she didn’t just pursue it. She broke down any barrier in her way.

“Thanks,” she replies, throwing the keys on the counter, making her way over to the kitchen, “it’s homey.”

He looked around to the variegated walls, marveling at the art patterns traced along them. She definitely had a thing for flowers, which didn’t come as much of a surprise given her name. Colors of purple, white, and yellow panned against the green background, different shades filling the black outlines of the petals, subtle oranges scattered, reminiscing the sunlight.

She also seemed reverently interested in neuroscience. “I like the schematic of the Tyrosine to Epinephrine reaction. Equipped with enzymes and all.”

“Mmm,” she laughs, looking up to the diagram on her wall, “I drew it myself.”

“You like organic chemistry?”

“I do, yeah. I also really like neuroscience. I’m thinking of getting a PhD in that at some point.”

He walks over to her couch, attention shifting to the poetry she had written on the wall behind it.

_I am not the only one who has to apologize._

_I am not the only one who has to try._

_I am not the only one who has to mend the shredded photographs._

“You wrote that?” Barry asks, appreciating the calligraphy of the text.

“I did, yeah,” she replies, rereading those words.

“Why?”

“I uh…” it’s her turn to stutter now. Usually Iris didn’t invite many people over, so her words remained her own, bottled in the comfort of her walls, “…I was going through a really rough time. And I wrote a poem about it. Those words found their way onto the page of my notebook…and I reread them that morning and it felt like I could finally forgive myself.”

She pauses to catch her breath, quickly brushing the stray tears from falling. The topic was still sensitive, and the wound hadn’t completely healed yet. “Anyway, I decided to paint them there as a reminder that no battle ever really has a winner. And that I’m not always responsible for the loss.” 

“Very poetic.” 

“What can I say? I’m a writer at heart.”

He turns around to look at her, taking all of her in. She’d gotten prettier, if that were even possible. She was breathtaking, physique toned, skin clear and smooth, personality sweet as silk. Sometimes, Barry would watch her walk out to her car, given the parking lot was right next to the track. Most times, he wanted to run up and hold her. Touch her.

…he was beginning to forget how she felt.

“You still write?” she asks, waking him from his trance. 

“No not anymore,” he laughs, “I was never really the writer. That was you.” 

“I think that was both us of Barry,” she breathes his name, eyes twinkling at its release.

He takes a few steps towards her, almost drawn to her body. “I mean, I wrote lines. You wrote novels. I gave you a word. You finished the story.” 

Iris gravitates towards him as well. Neither say a word, only move closer, both walking to the center point of the living room. 

Suddenly she stops in place, eyeing the words on her wall again. She turns around, facing away from him. “Why’d you avoid me?”

He looks at her back, hair draped across her shoulders, shirt tightly hugging her skin, pants curving with her hips. 

“Guilt, maybe? Shame. Pain. Anger. Bitterness. I don’t know. Take your pick.”

Silence falls on the room, its layer hovering in the air.

“Why? she asks, this time turning around to face him, hands gripping the counter behind to steady her.

“Because when we were 17, I didn’t know what it meant to love. At 25, I still don’t have a clue, for what its worth.”

“Yeah but at 17, we had each other. And you left. You ran.” 

“I did,” he sighs, eyes tensing with pain, “and I still do. And now when I see you, I don’t stop.”

“You stopped today,” she whispers.

He nods his head, lists his body awkwardly, weight falling heavy on his right leg, arms dangling by his sides, “I guess rainy days make me miss you more than I usually do.”

She doesn’t say anything. Only listens to the rain, crashing hard against her windows. Iris stares into the outside world, clouds covering the bright blue of the sky, water pouring fast, drenching the ground, adding to the dark grey colors overwhelming the saturnine day.

She thinks back to their nights alone. Especially the first time they slept together.

_17 and no experience. It had been raining outside and they were locked away in her room. Her parents were on a trip for something business-related. Her brother was with her grandparents. And she was with Barry, buried deep under the covers, hands running down the smooth of his skin, eyes shutting tight with the feel of him inside her.._

_“Is this okay?” he asked her, chest heaving with every thrust. She didn’t reply. Only sank into him, hands clinging to his back-_

“Still here?” Barry asks, finally snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah sorry,” she murmurs, brushing the thoughts away, “just a bit distracted.”

“By what?”

“You. Memories.”

His body stills with the sincerity of her words. She’d always been one to speak her mind, but she’d definitely become braver than the chary girl he used to know. 

“Memories of us?”

“Yeah. Before you ran.”

“Well you never chased after me!” he yells, a mixture of cacophonous blame and heart- wrenching sadness in his voice. 

“Don’t,” she warns, ignoring his outburst, “that’s not fair. You left no note. No letter. I was 17. You were my best friend. I fucking _loved_ you.”

Venom slips through her lips, staining the space between them. Still, she continues.

“And you left. If it hadn’t been for this goddamn program, we would’ve never seen each other again. And you kept running Barry! Even when you saw me, you kept running! You broke my heart and I was the one who tried to make it right.

I was never fast enough for you. I’m _not_ fast enough.”

She hadn’t realized the tears streaming down her cheeks until her sobs engulfed her entire body. Iris dropped to the couch, hands coming to cover her face, chest heaving with pain.

Barry stilled at her revelation, guilt hitting him harder than her words. He sat down next to her, sitting too close for comfort.

His hand came to graze the small of her back, before extending to rub gentle circles along its surface. And Iris broke at his touch.

Her body shifted impulsively into his, arms coming to cling to his back, head resting tightly on his chest.

He swiftly brought his arms to wrap around her, breaths restless against her shoulder.

“ _Damn_ _you_!” she weeps.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her hair, feeling his own tears pour down, matching the intensity of the rain outside, “I’m so sorry.”

They hold each other for minutes, both finding solace in each other’s heartbeats. Barry thinks about the last time he held her this long.

_“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he asked, stunned._

_“My parents want me to go away for college,” she shrugged, masking her sadness, “and it’s the top university in the world. I can’t pass it up.”_

_“But what about us?”_

_“Come_ _with me,” she pleaded, hands quick to cover his, “you have the grades. We can both go.”_

_“Iris,”_ _he abruptly pulled away from her, almost like her touch stung too badly, “I can’t afford that and you know it. I can’t even afford applying.”_

_“Barry, my parents will cover it. You don’t hav-”_

_“No! No, okay! I don’t need their money! I don’t need your pity.”_

_He_ _turned to walk away, leaving her standing in the cold of the night. Before he got too far, he heard the faint cry of her voice, tears falling from his eyes at the realization of his actions._

_He’d never made her cry before._

_Quickly he turned back around and embraced her firmly, arms wrapping tight around her waist, chest flushing against hers. He let out his own sobs, which muffled in her hair._

_They didn’t speak. He only felt her grip onto him as her facade disappeared. He didn’t know why, but he felt his heart breaking with every passing moment._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair again, “I’m sorry I left.” 

“You never gave me closure,” she says wearily, pulling away from him, tears subsiding, “so I wrote. So I worked. I gave myself closure, Barry. Yet here I am, breaking apart with your apology.”

He begins to speak, but she cuts him off, hand coming up, eyes piercing his, “don’t say sorry again, I forgave you a long time ago.

I’ll go get you a blanket.”

He watches her leave the room with sad eyes. This felt like heartbreak all over again. This felt too real, too much like the last time and he was scared out of his mind. Without another thought, he runs out of the house, leaving behind only his scent to linger in the air. 

Iris doesn’t come back out to see if he’s gone. The slam of the door is the only conformation she needs.


	3. Chapter 3

A month goes by and they don’t speak. Well, she doesn’t speak. He tries.

Repeatedly.

Every time he sees her on campus and every time she leaves for her car, he makes the effort to stop her…to garner a reaction. But Iris avoids him; doesn’t give him her time of day. And truth be told? He deserved that treatment and he knows it. 

So Barry gives up with weak attempts at verbal interactions. Instead, one day, he leaves her a poem on the windshield of her car, before heading home early.

As Iris makes her way to the car, her breath hitches when she sees the paper resting on her clear glass, right in front of the steering wheel.

 She quickly peels it off and pockets it, not daring to read it till she was safe inside, away from the outside world.

As soon as she sets down her purse and shuts the door, she opens it.

> **_I used to love this girl, who spoke with laughter._ **
> 
> **_Her vowels and consonants linked together beautifully._ **
> 
> **_She could say all she wanted to say, but all I heard was laughter._ **
> 
> **_I met her once, in a sad small town, where the city lights turned off years ago. I asked her to explain this life to me._ **
> 
> **_She looked at me with a smile on her face._ **
> 
> **_Like there was no pain; like there was no heartbreak;_ **
> 
> **_like_** **_life_** **_was_** **_only a happy melody, waiting for its dancers to move to the rhythm. She looked at me with eyes so big, I swore I saw every answer ever hidden in her_** ** _stars._**
> 
> **_Her brown irises shined as bright as the constellations in the darkest of nights._ **
> 
> **_She always had something to say,_ **
> 
> **_but I was always too afraid to listen to her finish. And when she told me she was leaving,_ **
> 
> **_I felt the laughter leave this city._ **
> 
> **_I felt the green fade to yellow, I felt the clouds fill with rain, I felt my eyes fill with tears, each begging for her to stay._ **
> 
> **_I let her go._ **
> 
> **_I didn’t chase after her._ **
> 
> **_And I still miss her every day._ ** **_I let my joy walk away._ **
> 
> **_And now, I can barely muster up a smile, let alone a laugh._ **
> 
> I’m sorry for leaving. You deserved better than that. I hope we can talk someday. I know I owe you an explanation.

Iris stares at his handwritten note, before crumpling it in her hand. Her head hits the back of her seat hard, and she closes her eyes shut, senses numbing at the thought of his words.

Her mind wanders back to one of her favorite memories of them. 

_“Barry, you have to lighten up a little,” she laughed, gripping his hand tightly._

_“Iris wait!” he panted, struggling to keep up with her, “where are you taking me?”_

_“To the park.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because it’s pretty there,” she shrugged her shoulders, almost as though she were stating the_ _obvious._

_“But it’s far!” he argued fervently. “And there are a lot of people. Can’t we just stay here, where it’s quiet and we’re together?”_

_“Why are you so afraid?”_

_“That park is for rich people. For people with families. I don’t belong here, Iris.”_

_“Barry listen to me,” she replied, hands coming to rest on either side of his face, “let them think whatever the hell they want to think. We can pretend like no one else exists but the two of us, okay? Just me and you. And no one else._

_Plus it’s really nice outside and there are beautiful flowers that the city recently planted! And I hear, they’ve built the beginnings of a track right next to it.”_

_“Really?” he whispered, eyes not leaving hers, hands coming to grip her waist._

_“Mhm, and maybe you and I can get involved with that? It’d be a nice way to spend the summer, before senior year.”_

_“Okay,” he smiled, not able to resist her charm anymore._

_“Okay,” she beamed at him._

_He_ _leaned down to place a chaste kiss to her lips. Her hands quickly came to wrap around his neck, holding him closer to her, kissing him back with radiant ebullience._

_She smiled into his lips, and just then, a little laugh escaped her’s, making their way to his. “You should do that again,” she whispered, before pulling away._

_“I will,” he grinned, taking her hand in his and letting her lead the way._

“Why’d you have to leave?” she asks the empty car, voice heavy with sorrow, tears falling slowly along her cheeks, hand crushing the note it was holding.

* * *

Maybe it was the way his voice sent shivers down her spine…maybe it was the way his smile made her feel the warmth of a sunny day…or maybe it was because she still loved him —

_Do_ _I still love him?_ she ponders, in the safety of her home, staring pensively at the flowers painted on her wall.

Sure, she moved on. And sure, she grieved his loss. And sure, she even promised herself she’d never need another boy to make her feel worthy; to make her feel like she was good enough.

Because dammit, she _was_ good enough. She worked hard, every day of her life. The day he disappeared was the day she told herself never to leave her heart in the palms of an evanescent boy. The day she graduated was the day she told herself to move wonders in the world, to make herself proud for herself and only herself.

So she did. 

She worked nights and days, alike. She graduated with honors from her university. She took three years off, working internships and jobs overseas. She investigated and studied criminals because her supervisors were so impressed with her intuition. She even published articles about behavior, with nothing more than the two bachelor’s degrees she pocketed - one in psychology, the other in journalism.

She travelled the world, learned the aesthetics of different cultures, shook hands with the humanity of other people. She wrote. 

My god did she write.

Every day of her life, she wrote. She kept a journal. Her pen became her microphone, its frictionless tip scratching stories into the tangible time capsule that was her notebook. She took the happy moments from each day and painted them on the white pages, making sure they were there when she was feeling her worst. She took the sad moments and reflected on them till they were no longer sad, till the black ink turned chromatic. She found solace in herself. She found solace in the music of her words. She grew to love the art that was her.

And Barry Allen was a memory that slipped away, day-by-day, fading into the background of her brain. 

Other boys replaced him in the home of her body. Other girls filled the void of his friendship. But they never stayed. Or she never allowed them to.

Either way, Iris didn’t mind, because she made her peace. Because he moved on and left her behind. Because she screamed his name the day he ran away, but he didn’t listen. She cursed his memory, until she no longer remembered how he felt. She transcended him. And she was proud of that. She was so proud of that.

And she _forgave_ him. Because that was the only way she could move on.

Soon, her sobs were replaced by laughter. Soon, her anger was replaced by joy. Her vulnerabilities became her strength. Her love became her anchor.

She stopped waiting for anyone to pick her up, decided that she was strong enough to hold herself. 

— she did love him though, that she knew. Even with miles separating their lives, hours tearing apart their memories, she always loved him.

So after another month of clinging onto his letter without giving him a sign of reconciliation, she decided it was time to talk things through.

Iris got the address from her dad, after convincing him she was ready to confront him. She tracked down his room and lightly tapped the door one late Saturday afternoon.

He hesitantly opened the door, slowly pulling it back, hands holding it tight for support. Barry didn’t usually expect visitors. 

But when he saw her, his heart stopped. There she stood in a purple dress, hair up in a ponytail, with one strand hanging from each side, both coming to rest on her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled as bright as ever and her lips turned to give him a reticent smile, almost like they were afraid to open too wide. Barry’s hand came to rest on his back of his head, disheveling his hair awkwardly. 

“Hey,” she says quietly after some time, hands gripping each other tightly, eyes avoiding his.

“Hi,” he replies contritely.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

“Actually…” he hesitates a bit before stepping outside, “…do you wanna go to the track? It’s a lot more spacious than my place…and the weather’s nice today.”

“Lead the way.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You really like the track, don’t you?”

It was a sunny day out, with a light breeze swaying the flowers and trees, moving them to a gentle dance under the golden rays.

They hadn’t talked much on the walk over. Both seemed to be holding their words, not ready to break the serene silence just yet. Iris had a lot she wanted to ask him. Barry had a lot he wanted to tell her. And when they finally arrived to the red pavement, both felt their impetuous heartbeats relax, letting the gentle wind sooth them into peace.

“I like running. It’s an escape.”

“So I guess that hobby hasn’t changed much since 8 years back.”

“Yeah, guess not,” he explains, “when we were in high school, I always felt like running was my way of making something of myself. You know, I didn’t have much money. Didn’t know where my parents were most of the time. Didn’t really have anyone who loved me -”

Her face drops with his description. “- except _you_ , I mean.

Anyway, every time I ran, I just looked around and saw the beauty of the world. Saw the grass, saw the trees, saw the flowers, saw people living lives I knew nothing about, saw the city in all its light and noise, saw the potential in things that I’d never considered before. I fell in love with it. I ran to feel normal. I ran to be one with whatever circumstance I was put in. I ran to ease my worries. I ran because it made me feel safe.”

She nods her head with solicitude. When she sees him take a seat on the grass next to the dark crimson, she follows after, keeping some distance between them, but sits close enough to feel his words vibrate the air.

“When you told me you were leaving,” he continues, playing with a piece of grass he’d picked from the earth, “I didn’t know what to do. Because if anyone could stop me from running, it was you. 

When I was with you, I didn’t want to run, Iris. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to be with you. You made me believe that life could be good in the slow. You made me believe that I didn’t always have to chase after something good…that I could just still and that good would come. You made me believe that I was worthy of this life…”

His body shakes impassively, and she can’t tell if its regret that’s playing with the syllables of his words, or if it’s nostalgia, singing with the prosody of his voice.

“…after you left the city, I came back to find your parents. I talked to your mom and dad. They told me you were so heartbroken…told me you didn’t eat or sleep or go out for days…told me you left with tears in your eyes. I told them I was sorry. And I was so so sorry. I was sorry for not saying goodbye. I was sorry for not staying.

I just didn’t know if I could chase after _you.”_

He feels tears accumulating in his eyes. She brings a gentle finger to swipe them away, and slowly he takes it in his hand and places a chaste kiss to its tip. Still, he speaks on.

“I always ran because nothing good ever happened. I was always running away from something, but never towards something. I know you told me I could come with. I know you held your hand and waited for me to take it. I know you never gave up on me, even though I didn’t know what I was doing. But, to run after you? That meant I had to stay on pace. That meant I had to follow where you led. That meant I had to believe that I could keep up. 

I didn’t believe that, you know. I didn’t know if I was fast enough.”

“I would’ve waited Barry,” she breathes, hand coming to wipe the tears falling from her own eyes.

“I know that now,” he answers, bringing his body closer to hers, taking her hands in his, “I know that now, I swear. I was just so angry and lost. I loved you so much. You have to believe me. 

You were my only family. You were my only home. You held me, you stayed with me, you made me feel worthy of being something. I put everything I had into our relationship, even though, in hindsight, I know that wasn’t fair to you.”

She squeezes his hands, nudging him to continue.

“When I realized how badly I messed up, I vowed to make up for it. I vowed to treat myself the way you treated me…to love myself the way you loved me.

So I graduated. So I worked. So I came to this school. But when I saw you here again, I couldn’t help but feel like fate was mocking me. Like it was taunting me. Like it was telling me that my decision to leave was a demon I had to kill before I could truly find peace. 

I know you tried talking to me. And I know you looked out for me, even when I didn’t pay you any attention. But I swear to you - I swear on my life - that not a day went by without wanting to come up to you and say sorry. I just didn’t know how.

I just got stuck.” 

“Barry, it’s okay,” Iris comforts him, rubbing circles on the backs of his hands, heart softening with the honesty of his confession, “I understand, I forgive you.”

“I know,” he sighs, letting go of her hands only to pull her body to him, hugging her with such force that she can’t help but collapse into him, “believe me I know. You were always so much stronger than me. But you deserve to hear this. 

You deserve to know that my apologies weren’t for show.”

Her head rests against his chest and she can feel his heartbeat jump in synchrony with her own. They’d always been in synch, the two of them. They’d always been able to read each other better than anyone else.

“Barry,” she breathes into him, still clenching him tightly in her embrace, “I just missed you. All the time.” 

“I missed you too, so damn much,” he cries into her neck, chest aching with pain, “I’m so sorry I left you. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you how much you meant to me. I’m so sorry I ran away.”

Iris doesn’t say another word, only holds him tighter, hands coming to linger in his hair, fingers whimsically playing with the brown locks. She feels him steady at her touch; feels his body calm; feels the storm passing over them. 

After some more minutes of silence, she pulls away.

“Hey,” she says quietly, lifting his chin to level their faces.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes coming to meet hers, “I never stopped loving you. I love you. With every part of me.”

She gives him a small smile, lips coming to curve softly at the sound of his voice. Another thing about them? They always sang the right songs. They always knew what genre the mood desired.

Slowly, she gets up, without saying another word. Iris stands on her feet, before holding out her hand to him.

“Come on,” she says, smile still plastered on her face.

He doesn’t move, only looks at her with confusion in his eyes. “It’s getting late. We should go home.”

“Home?”

“My place,” she replies, feeling his hand link with hers.

Barry stands on his feet, now understanding her plan. “You lead."

“No,” she shakes her head calmly, “we’ll walk together. That way you won’t have to chase me. That way, I won’t fall behind.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, smile coming to draw on his own lips, “I’d like that a lot.”


	5. Chapter 5

He only lets go of her hand when she has to open the door. Still, his hand rests on the small of her back, body gravitating towards her, eyes staring at her fingers’ intricacy of undoing the lock.

When he hears the click, Barry stands still, waiting for her invitation, even though she’d already welcomed him in at the track. But he knows he needs to hear it from her.

She turns around to face him before reaching for his hand again, this time pulling him with her through the entrance. Barry doesn’t say a word; he simply takes it and follows.

“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” she says after stepping inside, “I’ve been busy with too many things lately.”

“Yet you made time to talk to me,” he smiles, still interlocking his fingers with hers. Barry doesn’t know why, but he seems glued to her touch, and unless she asks, he wasn’t planning on letting go. Not again. 

“I did, yeah,” she says, leading him in. Her keys connect with the counter and she breaks his hold to shimmy off her cardigan. Quickly, she takes his hand again and pulls him to the couch. 

They sit facing each other, hand-in-hand, knees touching. Neither speak for a while, only look at each other, trying to find the right words to say.

Barry’s the first to break the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Technically you just did,” she laughs, and he joins in. That was a joke she always made when they were younger. “Ask away.” 

“That poem,” he says, gesturing to the words behind their seats, “was that about me?”

Iris stares at the white text with admiration of its sharp penmanship and succinct message. When she came back from traveling, her parents surprised her with a new house, much to her dread because she wanted to work for that, but they insisted. She made the most out of it, using her erudite knowledge of art; made it feel like her own; made it feel like a home. The colors were picked to convey serenity. The chemistry, drawn as a reminder that life was made of molecules. The words, written as a symbol of her letting go.

“It was kind of about you,” she finally replies, staring down at their intertwined fingers, “mainly it was about me, moving on from you.” 

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?”

She lets out a long sigh, eyes not wavering from their hands, “I could lie to you and say no. But yeah you did. You broke me.”

“And the ‘shredded photographs’ reference?” he asks, already expecting the answer.

“You and I weren’t exactly camera shy,” she laughs, “but when you left, I tore everything up and threw it away.

There were two pictures that I found a few months after. I had ripped them up, but they could’ve been put back together.”

“But you didn’t put them back together, did you?”

“No. I mean, I thought about it, but I didn’t want to do that alone.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Proud of me too,” she smiles, looking up to greet his gaze, “three years ago, it finally clicked that it probably wasn’t easy for you either.”

“’s not an excuse,” he whispers, “I made that decision. I was just so ashamed.”

“Barry, listen to me. The position you were put in as a child, that wasn’t your fault. Your parents’ addiction problems - it wasn’t fair that you had to hold that burden. Your parents leaving - whether by choice or by force - that wasn’t on you. And you can’t keep blaming yourself for their doings.” 

“I know. I realized that much when I figured out I did to you what they did to me.” He thinks back to the day they left him.

_“Barry it’s okay!” Joe pulled him back, gripping his body tightly against his as the police officers take his parents in, “you’re safe, you’re okay!”_

_“They’re my parents Joe!” the 15-year-old sobbed, attempting to break free, “I need them!”_

_“Barry!”_

_“DAD!” Iris yelled from behind them, quickly rushing to Barry’s side, “let me take him.”_

_Her_ _dad reluctantly loosened his grip on Barry when he saw Iris link her hand in his. Barry’s face softened and his sobs grew quieter at her touch._

_“Come_ _on Bear,” she whispered, “let’s go somewhere alone.”_

_He followed her lead without another word._

“…still with me?” Iris says, snapping him back to reality. “Yeah, yeah I’m here. I was just remembering the day -”

“They took your parents away,” she interrupts, “and how you and I went out to the track and we ran for miles on end, until you were too tired to cry and we were both panting with laughter.” 

“You held my hand that entire day,” he reflects, “you always believed in me Iris.”

“And I always will.”

“Even though I messed up the only healthy relationship I had? Even though I didn’t trust that things would work out between us? Even though I avoided you and made you run after me? Even though I was the coward who didn’t write or check in? Even though I h-” 

“I think,” she cuts him off, “it’d be unfair for me to believe that you didn’t outgrow those things, that you haven’t worked on yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this university. Otherwise you wouldn’t be top of your program. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in my house...still holding my hand.”

“I lied before,” he whispers.

“Did you?”

“I still write all the time. I’ve got a pretty eclectic work going on. Almost 200 poems and I still can’t find one I like enough to give to you.”

“What about the one you left on my car?” she muses.

“I wrote that in 5 minutes, put it there and ran myself home. If I would’ve stayed any longer, I would’ve crumpled it up and threw it away…much like I did with the 20 others.” He smirks before adding, “I can’t ever find the right words when it comes to you. Even when we were younger, my mind was always racing, going at speeds too fast to calm. But the minute I saw you, it felt like all those anxieties stilled.

And I tried so hard to translate those emotions into words…I always tried to reach your level of poetry.”

He pauses to bring a hand to caress her cheek, fingers grazing the smooth of her skin. “You defy poetry, Iris.”

She moves her lips to plant a faint kiss to the center of his palm, before inching closer to his body. “You’ll promise me you won’t run anymore?”

“Yeah,” he chokes back tears, eyes following hers, “I promise, I won’t run.”

“And you’ll stay?”

“I won’t leave again, I swear to you.” This time, his tears fall fast and before he can wipe them away, she pulls him into her, his head coming to rest on her chest.

He cries into her shirt, holding her tightly, emotions freeing at the feel of her embrace. “I don’t know how you had the heart to forgive me.” 

“I saw you fall apart the day they took your parents away Barry,” she whispers into his hair, arms encircling his body, “and you were always so ashamed of that life…of that past.

After a while, I figured no matter how much you confided in me, I couldn’t change that perception. That was something you had to fix. And when I told you I was leaving and you almost pulled away, part of me knew that I had to let you go.” 

She pauses to catch her breath, feeling his hands trace patterns along her back. His touch was always so soothing, almost sensual, almost longing to keep her calm.

“There were moments where I fell hard. And there were moments where I wanted nothing more than for you to drop to your knees, begging for forgiveness.” This time, it’s her sobs that overwhelm him. “God, but I knew the longer I kept it in, the more it would eat away at me. So I forgave myself a year after you left.

And I forgave you.”

“I never had a right to be angry,” he mumbles into her neck.

“No,” she says, pulling back to face him, “we cope in different ways. You probably thought it was my fault for wanting to leave.”

He closes his eyes at the sound of her words. “You’ve always known me too well.”

“Because I’ve always loved you too much.”

The words slip out of her mouth and make their way to him, atoms knocking into each other, vibrating the air in the space between them. He holds his breath when they reach his ear.

Before being able to hold back, Barry leans in and crashes his lips into hers, pouring everything he’d been feeling, kissing her so tenderly, yet so forcefully.

Iris kisses him back, hands coming to pull him on top of her as she falls into the couch, its fabric panning on either side of her body. 

They feel fire ignite between their bodies, friction adding to desire, passion yearning for release. He pushes into her, kissing every part of her face, lips moving to her neck, then back to her jaw, then down to her breasts.

And she lets him take control, trusting his lead, trusting his comfort. She holds him tight, relishing in his warmth.

Both move together, clothes falling away onto the ground, lips battling for territory, eyes remembering every touch of this moment.

“You love me?” he pants, pulling away to take her completely in.

“I never stopped.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You said we weren’t strangers.”

“Hmm?” she looks up from his chest.

They were laying on the couch, naked bodies tangled together, heartbeats dancing to the same rhythm. They got lost in each other the day before, neither wanting to leave the hold of the other, both relishing in a night filled with desire and heat, with sweat and yearning, with warmth and comfort. And now, it was the morning after, and they were still wrapped in the blanket that somehow found their way to them, enjoying the cool and calm of the early sunrise.

“When you told me to come over two months ago,” he says, tracing patterns along her arm, fingers admiring every bump on her skin, “you said we weren’t strangers. Do you believe that?”

“Yes and no,” she replies, “no because we’ve grown a lot in the past 7 years and _that_ Barry Allen isn’t the Barry Allen currently cuddling with me on the couch…”

A laugh escapes his lips and he brings them down to place a tender kiss to her forehead.

“Yes,” she continues, nuzzling closer into him, “because something about you always made sense to me.”

“You read me pretty well.” 

“And you do the same,” she smiles. 

A few more moments of silence pass by as both stare through the window into the outside, watching the blue take the shape of the sky, clouds settling to play in its pool. 

“I should go home, Iris.”

That definitely wasn’t what she was expecting him to say next. Confused, she pulls away to look at him, eyes searching his face for an explanation.

“It’s just…” he continues, seeing her perplexed reaction, “I owe your parents an apology. And I owe you a proper date. And I think I need to go buy a bouquet of irises…you know, it matches with the theme of your place.”

She giggles at his words, and brings her lips to meet his, lingering for a few seconds too long. “It’s early,” she coos, “we can do all those things later, Bear.”

“I know,” he replies, holding her close, “I just feel like I have so much to make up for.”

Iris doesn’t question him anymore. Merely lets him pull her off the couch - not without making it unnecessarily difficult, of course - and both of them get dressed, him in yesterday’s clothes, her in warm colors, and make their way to greet the outside world.

* * *

 

Barry - immediately after he left Iris’s place after their first night together - went to talk to her family, profusely apologizing for his past behavior, promising them nothing but utter love and adoration to come. Thankfully, they warmed up to him and embraced him home with open arms, even telling him he was welcome to stay with them whenever he needed.

Luckily, Iris already handled that when she told him to move in with her, just one month after they became official.

_“Baby you’re over all the time, anyway,” she said, “plus, you love it here.”_

He had reluctantly agreed, under the condition that she’d let him serenade her with a new song at least once a week. And that he would do grocery shopping and he’d make them breakfast and dinner everyday. Iris had enthusiastically agreed, but there were those special exceptions - especially on the weekends - when he would still be asleep and she’d sneak away from their bed to make coffee, pancakes, waffles, toast and eggs and he’d wake up to the smell of her sweet cooking, only to rush to the kitchen and prop her up on the counter and tickle her senseless for getting up without him. She’d laugh at his silliness and they’d end up having breakfast out of the pan and he’d insist on doing dishes as a thank you.

Truth be told, Iris knew he was still insecure about their socioeconomic differences, and his insistence on so many responsibilities was his way of making up for that perceived burden. But she tried her best to make him feel comfortable, letting him handle this transition however he wanted, and he tried his best to let her, compromising with her and listening when he overdid it.

_“Barry, I want you here,” she’d tell him, “this is your home too.”_

It became easier the more they talked it through, and both learned from each other’s perspectives.

They had days on end to catch up, and one subject that always came up was his parents. She eventually convinced him to go visit them - after seeing how hurt he’d been by their past addiction trials - and he agreed with time, telling her it was something he’d been planning to do. The relationship was raw and awkward, but he promised her he’d work on forgiving them, and she didn’t push. Only encouraged him to do what he needed to do. 

They also made a pact to help out with the apartment complexes at least a few times a month. Both even convinced Joe to talk to the city about increasing funding for things like a new ventilation and heating system, and for planting trees and flowers so the building and its surroundings would be more appealing. Barry said it’d give the residents something to do to pass the time, while helping with the aesthetics of the area, which Iris argued would help lift everyone’s spirits.

But one night, amidst the chaos of end-of-the-year events and friends’ going-away parties - given graduation was nearing - and finding their footing in their new relationship and making up for lost time, the pair had a quiet night in for the first time in what seemed to be forever.

“Okay,” Iris says, notebook and pen in hand, watching her boyfriend make his way from the kitchen with two cups of tea, “give me a word.”

“Any word?” he inquires, sitting down on the floor next to her, kissing her forehead gently, before wrapping his arm around her waist.

It had been raining outside and they cuddled up under a cozy blanket, while the halcyon tune of music played in the background and candles illuminated the entirety of their home.

“Mhm, any word.”

“What’s it for?” he asks, staring at the blank page, “I need some context.”

“I’m writing a new poem,” she answers, taking a sip of the lavender tea, “and I need a prompt. Or a word. Or both.” 

Barry dwells on her words and looks around the room for inspiration. It hadn’t changed much since he’d moved in four months ago, except they’d definitely drawn a lot more biochemistry on the walls. He insisted that oxytocin and serotonin should come above and below dopamine in the reaction schematic, to which she eventually agreed, even letting him paint them on. They also had a collage of all their pictures on the fridge. But eventually the fridge became too small, so they extended it to the surrounding walls and even to the archway separating the living room and kitchen. His favorite part though were the notes they’d leave each other, sometimes hidden, sometimes out in the open. It became their special way of communication when times got too busy. And it became their ice breaker when they were feeling too drained or exhausted or had a heavy heart. And when the note was read and the conversation happened, they’d attach it to the board, which now had upwards of 50 different colored and sized pieces of paper hanging from it. 

“Can it be a verb?” he finally replies, idea popping into his head.

“It can be anything you want.”

“Okay. Run.” 

“To run or running?” she asks, nostalgia filling her eyes at the gravity that word held.

“Hmm.” Barry pauses, thinking hard about her question. “Definitely to run,” he answers.

“Why?”

“Because _running_ implies someone or something’s already doing that action. Whereas _to_ _run_ is the infinitive. The verb isn’t bound to a subject or a tense…it can take on whatever form you want it to. Almost like it’s free.”

“Good point,” she avers, “you have to help me write it then.”

“I think I can do that. Short poem or long poem?”

“Well we’ve got all night to figure that out,” Iris muses, looking at him to see a smile greeting her back, “but if it’s short enough, I think it can replace that one.”

His hand follows her finger and he reads the words written above the couch again, for what feels like the hundredth time.

_I am not the only one who has to apologize._

_I_ _am not the only one who has to try._

_I am not the only one who has to mend the shredded photographs._

Slowly, Barry shakes his head, not liking her suggestion. “That’s yours.”

“I know. But I don’t live here alone anymore. So now, it can be ours.”

“But Iris,” he takes her hands in his, “that’ll always be a reminder of your strength. And I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Her eyes ease with his explanation and a small smile draws on her lips. “Tell you what. How about, whatever we end up writing tonight, we paint alongside that one? We’ll just have to make both their font sizes a bit smaller, yeah?”

His eyes twinkle with joy and he leans down to kiss the sweetness of her lips, humming a soft and resounding _yes_ into them.


End file.
